The Curious Adventures of Gordan's Thoughts

Flash fiction

 

“God, grant us world peace,” prayed the old woman.

“God, keep the art alive,” prayed the young man.

“Without chaos, there would be no art. Without art, no peace. Peace exists because of chaos, without chaos an artless world would lack peace,” said God.

 

MG

I once was young and I was naïve
I dreamed of a future where we would be
Together we’d fight, you with me
Hand in hand so sturdily

We pushed each other to rise above
The hatred thrown by the world at us
Together we fought them using our love
The assumption that it would simply be enough

Slowly we pushed each other to grow
To become… (whatever we are now)…I don’t know
We pushed so hard our unity broke
Here we both are, standing alone

Perhaps at one point we were the same
Pushed ourselves then each other away
You led me to believe we were on the same page
Yet your words were rehearsed and our fights were staged

Did you know it would come to this?
Did you know it when we first kissed?
Was this my doing, or is this your wish?
Is there still a chance, even just a bit…?

 

MG
(Narration of an observed journey)

The crossroad is where you and I first met,
I inched forward whilst you raced on ahead,
Neither of us knew what was in store
But I sought direction and you just wanted… “more”.

Here we meet again,
at this crossroads, my friend;
Me? I never left,
merely needed the rest.
You ran in circles
wrapping up your own mess.
Never have I seen
anyone in such distress,
for usually it is I who causes
the chaos and unrest.

If I am to admit, t’has truly been quite a while
since I’ve had to hide a tear and even feign a smile.
Yet that is what you’ve needed,
so that is what I gave,
then you trampled on our seeds
sent our forest to its grave.

After all this time
I surrender my pride
Your demons are no longer
my battle to fight.
They never really were,
nonetheless I tried
But darling, I’m not your saviour
Just a friend you devoured.

MG

 

 

She said she comes from Limerick.
I thought she said “I like limericks”.

He, however, came from Labrador.
I thought he had a labrador.

“I want to visit Hungary,” said Hugh.
I told them “Hugh is hungry!”

My parents had a nice trip to Bath
but did not bring back a bath.

Brother wanted to visit Turkey
so I bought him a roasted turkey.

I met a girl from Boring, Oregon,
totally thought she meant “Oregon’s boring”.

“I’m from North Yorkshire, a place called ‘Crackpot‘…”
I said, “Thought crackpots were illegal…?”

Good Grief, Idaho
Gore is in New Zealand
There’s a Hippo in Kentucky
and a Hooker in Oklahoma

Imalone in Wisconsin
Innaloo in Perth
An Inchmore of Ireland
is Antarctica’s Inexpressible Island 

Did you even know…
How long is the flight to Howlong?
There’s a New Erection in Virginia?
No Man’s Land is in England?
There’s Nowhere Else in Australia?

Obama’s in Japan.
Ogre’s in Latvia.
Pussy is in France.
Rectum is in Netherlands.

There’s a Ragged Ass Road in Canada
and Searchlight’s in Nevada.
Arizona has a Surprise
and England’s got a Thong.

All these names make me Uncertain, Texas
but Zap, North Dakota
Whynot, North Carolina?

 

MG

Such twisted bliss
A blissful twist
The masochist and the narcissist
She knows he will break her
Yet still lets him take her
For brokenness was all she had known
And heartlessness was where she had grown
Hopelessly alone, she drew her conclusions
It was a world without love, only illusions
A place overcome by untamed emotion
But her heart remained deep as an ocean
Seeking narcissistic love with its highs and lows
For that roller coaster is all she knows
Desperation, pain
Fear, and rage
On insecurities the narcissist feeds
Validating the ink that bleeds
Enabling the scars a masochist needs
Leaving wounds deeper than skin
Penance for her every sin
Until the day he bled her dry
And the masochist could no longer cry
For her evaporated tears left a stench
And the narcissist’s thirst no longer quenched
Thus he moved on, new prey to hunt
A planet with eight billion is more than enough
Masochists everywhere, they call themselves “humans”
Silver platter for the narcissist — salt, paprika, and cumin.

 

Collaboration MG and dichi_PoeTree

April 2018

I looked at old pictures
Of you and of us
Trying to muster an apology
For not being “good enough”
All that came out
Were words of honest truth
“I’m sorry that I was never
Broken enough for you”

For months I kept trying
To go back and apologise
Kept thinking I’d done wrong
That I’d accidentally lied
In retrospect I realize
The only mistake I’d made
Was not spotting your disguise
I thought was “compromise”

You’re so used to being depressed
That you throw away happiness
Every chance you get
You stop to analyse instead of progress
You were noticeably different when we met
A lot less distressed
A lot more perplexed
And a lot more invested

I, too, was trying to process
A great deal of unrest
The turmoils of our youths
Eventually split me from you
I took time to rebuild myself
You, instead, ran to hell
Got comfortable and stayed there
Whining that no one cared

Slowly, I faded out of your life
Drifted effortlessly into mine
One that I had relentlessly created
To include only those who motivate
And silently exclude those who berate
My world invites but does not force
Just come through the door
Don’t break down the walls
You are always more than welcome to stay
But you deliberately choose not to pull your own weight.

 

MG

 

(This ramble rambles on a little, beware.)

So what that I used to be more extroverted and now I’m more introverted? So what that I used to care about the material world and now I care about the metaphysical one? So what that my room is chaotic when the wars in my head have finally subsided?

Yes, I know that every day is a blessing and a stepping stone towards the future. I know that what happened in the past is a reflection of what I once thought was important. I know that history is a representation of how large our complacent, arrogant egos measured compared to each new tomorrow.

And I know that the future is only influenced by what we do today, but it is in no way defined or determined.

Destiny is never “one goal” but a series of different choices we make in order to arrive at a destination we gear towards — most of the time, anyway.

Yes, unexpected occurrences are a part of life, things change and those inconsistencies sometimes affect our rhythms. But I suppose growing up is merely a compilation of learning how to account for differences — knowing how to mold ourselves into situations that are out of our control.

We can’t change reality, but we can change how we respond to it. We can’t always get what we want, but we can generally strive for our needs. “Wants” and desires are preferences, they are nothing more than what we’ve been feeding our egos this whole time. Needs, on the other hand, are the aspects that keep us physically and mentally in check. The rest falls into place as long as these aspects are regulated.

With all these regimented policies I’ve made for myself, committing to them has led to a freedom I was always fighting for but had no idea what it looked like until I attained it.

Yes, I’m freer than I was but not as free as I can be.

Freedom to me? Free of anxiety, of anger, of rage, of pain. Free of impulsivity, of disparity within myself. Free of unnecessary desire, of irrational delusions. Free, but still with a few remnants to de-clutter. I mean, if I did it all at once, there’d be nothing left to do. So why the rush? It’s not like I’m trying to prove anything to anyone, so why be impulsive about it?

I used to be in a rush to grow-up, but now that I’m a little bit more “grown’, one thing I learned along the way is that you can’t rush growth.

What you can rush though, is getting your work done before the due dates and paying bills on time. Other than that… there is really… no…….. r..u….sh……………

 

MG

 

 

I come from a city where…

Kids can make computer games
But don’t know how to ride a train

Teens can ace quantum physics
But have no clue about budget sheets

College kids can start revolutions
But with love they’ve no solution

Thirty year olds still watch cartoons
But can’t define platoon or harpoon

Forty year olds still live with mommy
But convince themselves they’re free

Fifty year olds try out kick-start companies
That last no more than fifty two weeks

The sheer existence of intelligence
If not balanced is meaningless

This city is filled with educated idiots
Whose lives rely on widgets

MG

%d bloggers like this: